Unique Among Cities
by okaybutumwhy
Summary: When an unbreakable orb seperates Gotham from the rest of the world, those left inside are wrought with sporadic earthquakes, rampant crime and, most troubling, waning supplies. While Dick, Bruce and their allies try to break through the barrier, Tim and Barbara are forced to do whatever it takes to keep Gotham City from ruins. Set a few months after season 2, and ignores season 3


Gotham is unique among cities.

Everyone knows it. Outsiders. Tourists. Vigilantes. And the citizens, especially. It's why they never leave. Why, despite maniacal clowns and calculating criminals and countless, grimy streets and blocks that any local knows to stay far away from, they stay.

Gotham is unique among cities, and that is both its gift and it's curse. And it is why, no matter how desperately he claws for an escape, Dick Grayson always finds himself back before the doorway of Wayne Manor, his sunglasses in one hand, his spare key in the other, and a lump in his throat.

* * *

"Master Grayson." Alfred's voice is sharp, and Dick freezes before he can ascend the winding staircase to his room in the West Wing. "What a surprise."

"Hey, Alfie." Dick greets, massaging the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry I didn't warn you, but it was a last minute visit. I'm just here to grab a few things."

Alfred hmms. "And where, pray tell, have you been for the last couple months?"

Dick bites his lip. "Out."

"Grieving, I assume." Alfred tilts his chin forwards slightly, the closest he can get to a sign of hostility. "Or, more precisely, throwing a pity party for yourself.

Dick blinks. "That's not...Alfred, I've been busy."

"Busy roaming the streets with young Master Harper, making a fool of yourself."

"Busy helping people. Busy helping Bludhaven."

"Busy drinking yourself silly in some rundown down flat."

Dick's fists are in balls. "Yeah, well, my best friend died. Sorry if I'm having a bit of a hard time right now."

Alfred doesn't answer for a while, his eyes locked on his grandson's face. Finally, he sighs. "Master Bruce is in his room upstairs, if you deem him worthy of a visit. We will be setting out again tomorrow, so this may be your last chance."

Dick doesn't answer.

"Master Timothy is with his father; the man is being kept in his own house, now. I'm sure the boy would appreciate a visit about now, as well."

No answer.

"Mistress Barbara is still in the hospital-"

"I know." Dick chokes out, finally. "I know where they are."

Alfred's stare is hard. "Then why have you waited this long to see them."

He turns on his heel without another word, leaving Dick, alone, in the empty entrance hall.

* * *

"I have no backstory.

Or, well, that's not right. That's stupid. I do; everyone does. Of course.

But...see, the thing with superheroes is that they're driven by something. A tragedy in the past. A blood link. A set of circumstances that, y'know, changed their life forever.

But...I don't have that. I mean, I'm a bit different. A bit obsessive, a bit neurotic. But, really, what teenager isn't different in someway? I'm...normal.

At the end of the day, I forced myself into the role Robin. I stood my ground, stood in front of Batman himself, and I-I demanded to be Robin. I fought for this."

Tim sighs, running his hands through his hair. He's let it grow out, recently; hasn't had the time to cut it. He eyes his father's limp hand, struggling with whether he should hold it or not. Whether they were that close.

"My point is...this is my fault. And I don't know know if you can hear me, if you'll come out of this coma and I'll be in a whole heap of shit from Bats for telling you my identity, but...I need you to know I'm-"

His voice breaks, and he has to try again.

"I'm sorry."

* * *

Across Gotham, in the third floor of a hospital much too expensive for her father to pay, Barbara Gordon tries to move her toes.

The doctor had said the venture was an impossible one; that the odds of her moving her legs again were astronomically low.

But she is Barbara fucking Gordon. She eats astronomically low odds for breakfast, and no amount of pitying glances and doctor's reports can convince her otherwise.

She is Barbara Gordon, she tells herself again, lowering herself back into her mattress for a short break. And even though just trying to move her toes brings her to the brink of exhaustion, she will get through this.

She has to get through this.

* * *

Dick wants to slam the Manor doors behind him. He wants to scream at Alfred and throw an expensive vase across the room and hide in the chandelier like he did when he was twelve.

But he also can't face Bruce right now. He can't face anyone right now. So he leaves the Manor in silence, cursing himself again for coming in the first place. He storms to his car, breathing heavily, and ignores Alfred's disappointed face in the window with a stormy determinism. He throws the stupid books and trinkets that he had come to take in the passenger seat, revs the engine, and reverses out of the driveway at a speed Wally would have been envious of.

But Wally is dead. And everything is worse now.

* * *

The next day, Alfred helps Bruce to his own car. The man, trying to make it seem as if he isn't struggling with his crutches, notices the jagged tire tracks, but doesn't comment.

Alfred almost wishes that he would.

"You don't have to come with me." Bruce says when they're halfway to the airport. "You should stay."

"Don't be stupid." Alfred says shortly, and is glad that Bruce doesn't seem to notice his ill tempered words.

"I should stay." The man is saying, almost to himself. "What am I doing."

Alfred takes a deep breath. "Things are bad right now," He agrees, "but they will get better. And you have to work to make them better. You can't do that here. And certainly not in your condition."

Bruce doesn't respond, but from the corner of his eye Alfred can see him rubbing thoughtfully at his back, where Bane broke it.

"Master Dick will come around." Alfred assures him. "And Master Tim may be emotionally compromised, but he is strong. Gotham will not be frail for long."

"When I get back, I will be stronger."

"Yes." Alfred agrees, though he's unsure if Bruce was really talking to him. "You will be."

* * *

In Dick's apartment, Roy is the first to notice the rumbling. He's on his feet in an instant, and Dick, stirred from fitful sleep, is not far behind him.

"Earthquake?" He asks.

"You really think we're that lucky?" Roy drawls, lifting Lian from her cradle before the tremors could bring her to tears. "It'll be some B-rate villain for sure."

"The Quakemaster," Dick sniggers, moving to fling the curtains open and assess the threat. "or something stupid like that."

Roy snorts, shushing Lian and swaying her soothingly.

Dick brushed his curtains to the side, and is unprepared for the vibrant purple light that bathes the room.

* * *

In the watchtower, Kaldur and M'gann stand before their team, briefing them on a diplomatic mission to scout the intention of a spacecraft docked in Earth's solar system.

"Please, for the love of god, stay peaceful." M'gann is saying, all too aware of the destructive combined force of the team. "We can't afford to fight a war right now; not after the Reach."

There are some shifts in the crowd before her, a few mutterings, and she feels a tinge of frustration. She's new to the whole second in command thing, with Batgirl out of commission, and though her self confidence has grown since her arrival on Earth she can't help a pit of dread that's formed deep in her stomach. How can she lead a team when she's still too scared to embrace her true physical form?

She turns to Kaldur, and is surprised to see he's not focused on the proceedings himself. Following his gaze, out the expansive windows of their home base and towards the vibrant surface of Earth, she feels her jaw drop.

* * *

They've only been in the air for a few minutes before Bruce begins to notice scatterings of heated murmurs from the other first class flyers. His eyes narrow, and he cranes his neck to see past Alfred and out the window.

"What's wrong?" He asks Alfred when his back renders him unable to see whatever is behind the plane that has caught the attention of the other passengers.

Alfred's mouth is agape. "It's...a wall." He says, a disbelieving edge to his voice. "A large, glowing wall is rising around Gotham."

And in Gotham, thousands of citizens dive for shelter as the wall of purple energy splits through Earth under them, the ground growing jagged as it forces its way out and into the atmosphere. And as heroes, villains and civilians alike watch with wide eyes, the globe grows until it closes on top of them, the orb separating them from the rest of Earth.

Gotham is unique among cities. And now, it is alone.


End file.
